


an incubus is

by singtome



Series: Sparks [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Mild Language, Sexual Content, Smut, sora is in no way a blushy autumn leaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singtome/pseuds/singtome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incubus is an incubus, he guesses. The crickets are laughing at him.</p><p>(Or: Sora is the Devil and Riku wonders why the world hates him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	an incubus is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CumbersomeWit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumbersomeWit/gifts).



> This is based off a line in a previous [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3190934) I wrote, which apparently needed elaboration. You don't need to read that first, but it's there is you want to check it out :D
> 
> "They are careful and quiet and pseudo keep it in their pants when the parents are in the house. Except for one time when they didn’t, and Riku should have put up guard the moment he saw the figurative devil horns sprout from Sora’s ridiculous head. Riku truly, honestly, considered killing him. Sora is still smug about it four days later."

 

 

“Why would you do that?”

When Riku’s dad announced to him that the two of them will be expecting Sora and his mother over for lunch that afternoon, beaming down at his son with an enigmatic “you’re welcome” smile Riku is choosing for his own sake to ignore, he probably did not expect said son to go stiff and stare at him like a harbor fishermen who has just discovered a game-changer in aquatic life.

Riku sees his dad’s smile drop almost as fast as the pen in his hand does. It lands on the hardwood bench loudly, where it bounces, rolls, and plummets onto the tile, where it cracks open with a splutter of ink and springs, and Riku feels his sanity doing the same.

“I, erm.” The man stammers, shifting awkwardly in the door frame, previously outstretched arms taut by his side. “They’re … friends? And you invite friends over for lunch?”

Riku lets his head fall onto the abundance of text and notebooks in front of him, smearing his recently written notes – which on any occasion would have dried normaly, if the Island had not decided that this week would be as good as any to host an apocalyptic worthy heat-wave.

“Or is there some kind of new etiquette I missed?”

Riku makes a sort of noise into his Biology text book that isn’t exactly “small distressed animal”, but getting there.

 _One day_ , Riku thinks as his dad circles the kitchen to tentatively pat his back. Just one day to study with no distractions, is all he wanted. One day on his own with no social obligations, no loud commotions – which is precisely the reasoning behind locking himself in the quiet kitchen, that sanctuary so rudely broken by the parental – and, as much as Riku’s stomach turns at the thought, no Sora.

“Listen, kid, if there’s something … wrong, you can tell me.” His dad offers in his typical “talk to me I’m old and wise” voice, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his son’s ear.

Riku _very calmly_ rightness himself. “There’s nothing wrong.” He says, giving his dad the school-is-making-me-want-to-walk-into-the-ocean-and-hope-that-the-seahorses-will-accept-me-as-one-of-their-own speech. In so many words. “What time will they be over?”

His dad grins. “Half-twelve.”

Riku’s glances at the clock. Currently 11:21. Brilliant. He will have time to shower the beginnings of Island Heat Wave off and make himself presentable. Not that he is trying to impress anyone, oh no. On cue Riku’s phone buzzes beside him, screen lighting up with a new message. He swipes the devise out of sight when the ID also flashes loud and proud. Riku opens the text as his dad moves behind him, starting to unload the fridge.

_**Sora  
11:22 am** _

_**Sup, legs. Looks like I’ll be around to make your day all that much more better after all! ;)** _

Riku smiles and laughs despite it all, shaking his head in amusement. He hears the sound of his dad pointedly shutting the fridge, pulling the cutting board out of the cupboard, and rustling the lettuce. Riku rolls his eyes and stubbornly does not move until the man says,

“So, hey, you know that your very presence warms my heart and brings joy to my otherwise meaningless existence, but I kinda need that bench space so …”

“Yeah, yeah.” Riku sighs, stands up and takes his sweet time gathering all of the books and stray sheets. He texts back _**“More better”- I thought we’d progressed**_ half way up the stairs and shouts, “Don’t set anything on fire!” to his father.

He hears a monotone, “Thank you, loving son of mine.”

At the same moment Sora texts back a simple, yet effective _**:P**_ and Riku, dumping all of his work onto his bed, wonders if he will ever be able to deal with either of them.

His school work and brilliant, poor smeared notes glare back at him. Oh well. He can try again tomorrow.

 

 

Sora and his mom arrive a little earlier than scheduled. Riku, hair near-dry and tied back, answers the door to see both looking immaculate as usual, despite it being the same temperature at the surface of the sun out there. Sora’s mother explains that they were hoping to help with lunch preparations, as Riku leads them through the living room and into the spacious kitchen where his dad is roasting chicken, or something, whistling along to the radio.

There is a tone in her voice, however, that explains that the main reason for their earliness is standing beside Riku in khakis and sandals.

Sora, hands in pockets and grin bright, eyes brighter – Riku remembers to breathe – and shrugs innocently. “I’m hungry!”

He then gives a furtive sideways glance to Riku when their respective parents immediately strike up a conversation, their back to the both of them – Sora’s mom dropping the cake she brought on to the counter and unknowingly making Riku love her that much more – grin morphing into smirk, eyes gleaming with a kind of mischief Riku has become all too familiar with.

So it’s going to be one of _those_ days, is it?

Riku gives his boyfriend – that word causes a particular stirring in his chest Riku has to bat off with a stick at times – a barely there shake of the head, trying to convey _behave_ and _not here_ all with a single look. He doesn’t know if he pulls it off, but then Sora raises an eyebrow as if to say “fine” and leisurely strolls into the center of the room. Riku feels knuckles brushing against his hip as Sora maneuvers past, stepping a little closer than necessary to weave around Riku and a side table. Riku catches the scent of coconut sun lotion, sea-salt and just general Sora-ness, and his heart and stomach simultaneously do a _thing_.

The batting-stick is in a cupboard somewhere, unfortunately.

As Sora is walking away Riku has the perfect view of pronounced shoulder blades and a slender neck that Riku spent quite a bit of time lightly tracing his fingers over some afternoons ago. And, yep. There, but partially hidden by the strap of Sora’s tank and golden tan alone, is a familiar, fading bruise.

It is –

It is going to be a long day.

 

 

The next hour passes fairy innocently. Lunch is nearly ready, Riku’s dad and Sora’s mother begin setting the dining table – _outdoor_ , mind. Apparently it’s not so bad under the shade of the canopy, Riku begs to differ – and Sora has dragged Riku into a hallway or alcove only twice.

The third time he does it the adults are outside playing with the radio, Riku hears them bickering about which station should serve as background noise to the crickets and ocean waves and the sound of Riku melting. He is lazily chopping tomatoes and cucumbers when Sora appears out of thin air.

Riku nearly slices his fingers off by a hair. Cursing, he throws the knife on the bench and turns to Sora, eyes livid.

“Wha –”

Sora raises a finger to his lips, making a quiet shushing noise. He walks into Riku’s personal space and winds his arms around his waist, fingers playfully poking at the hem of his T-shirt, before kissing him.

Riku makes a little noise of surprise, and casts a weary glance over to the door before he lets himself sink into it.

“Hi.” Sora whispers happily against his lips.

“Hey.” Riku returns, grinning, and buries his face in Sora’s hair, who nuzzles into his collarbone while humming in content. “What’s up?”

Sora shrugs. “Missed you.”

Riku silently wonders how that is possible, since they were on each other like mice to cheese not twenty minutes ago. Regardless, his stomach flutters. Sora leans back against the counter, pulling Riku with him. For a moment they stand there, abandoned half-made salad behind them.

The fuzziness in his core stops when the nuzzling of nose and cheek turn into a soft and suggestive scraping of teeth. He feels Sora’s grin before he sees it, leaning back, staring down at the boy and murmuring, “ _Sora_.” wearily at a pair of narrowed eyes and an alluring glare.

Sora tilts his head; nose poking at Riku’s chin before his mouth is there, delicately tracing the sharp line of Riku’s jaw to his ear, where he whispers, “ _Really_ missed you.” And the hands that were gently tugging on his shirt are now dipping down, up and _under_. Sora traces one, two, three vertebras before his teeth bite down on Riku’s earlobe.

The faint scent of cucumber reaches through Riku’s clouded brain, through the _want_ and _please_ and _it’s too fucking hot for this_ and _Sora_ , keeping him grounded. Barely. But enough for him to peel himself from Sora’s arms, just enough to look him in the eye.

What he sees is a grin that would make the Devil proud. Riku pictures him with horns, and wings sprouting out from those soft, pronounced shoulder blades. He counts the faint freckles dusting Sora’s nose, forcing himself to think.

Sora seems to sense him about to speak and immediately shushes him. Then hands are slipping back down his back, mouth nibbling at Riku’s neck now –

“Sora – ”

“ _Shh_.”

– Tracing a sure path to his hips and round front, _poking_ –

“Hey,”

“ _Shhh_.”

– Dipping and _pulling_ at the cord of his pants, and Sora kisses him again, hard and purposely. In his mind Riku hears the shushing, his cheeks flushed and heartbeat sped up a little too fast as his hands slide under the waistband, fingernails tickling Riku’s abdomen.

“Mn.” Sora moans into his mouth and Riku struggles to breathe – _God_ – struggles to stand and function like a human being when – _fuck_ – when Sora is kissing him like that while tugging at his waist band, in the middle of the kitchen next to shredded produce, with parents all of fifteen steps away and.

And.

“You’re hot.” Sora says, to which Riku tries to reply with _Yeah, it’s 120 out_ but what actually makes it to his mouth from his extremely frazzled brain is “ _Mfffuh_ ”.

Sora chuckles against Riku’s lips, taking care to pull the bottom one between two rows of perfect white teeth. The tugging increases and –

Wasn’t he taller just a moment ago?

And –

“Hey, kid, how’s that salad coming along?”

Lightning has nothing on them with how fast they jump apart. They are spared all of three seconds before Riku’s dad waltzes into the kitchen – Riku uses the momentary obstruction of eye sight obscured by Sora’s wicked little head, shoulders and torso to very subtly, yes, tug his shirt down.

Sora excuses himself from the room before anyone can get a word in, practically running from with all of the grace of someone who did not almost get caught trying to go down on his boyfriend, the little shit.

In the meantime Riku is trying to keep the hysterical screaming on the inside of his head from erupting into this ridiculous reality.

Luckily, his dad’s line of sight is set disappointedly on the half-salad.

“Really? I know it’s scorching but –”

“Sorry.” Riku says quickly, rushing over to the chopping board to resume. His dad gives him a look of startled surprise, but Riku really isn’t in a mood to argue.

(His mood is currently upstairs in the bathroom and, Riku thinks, hopefully trying to drown himself.)

“Almost done.”

His dad gives him a _look_. “’Kay.” He says slowly. “The food’s on the table.”

“Cool.”

Years of hiding his emotions like the clam that he is means that Riku is able to get to “bored and lethargic teenager” from “pseudo sexed up teenager” in a matter of seconds.

The man nods and leaves, not before casting his son another weary glance. The floorboards creek upstairs and Riku groans. He is uncomfortable and itchy and hard and he hates everything.

 

 

Sora sends him half-assed _I’m sorry_ looks across the table during lunch. Riku glares and kicks his leg, to which Sora silently winces, and Riku almost feels a spike of quilt – _almost_. Then not five minutes later Sora is sliding his foot up Riku’s shin, and Riku grips his fork extra hard in order to stop himself from launching a slice of pumpkin at Sora’s head.

An incubus is an incubus, he guesses.

The crickets are laughing at him.

 

 

“Baby …”

“Shut the hell up.”

Riku would give Sora’s sincere tone points if it didn’t sound so amused – coupled by the fact that Sora only calls him “baby” if he is making fun of him. The same way that Riku’s own voice is lacking spite when he tells Sora to go fuck himself.

Sora grins at him from where he is propped up on the bench, watching Riku rinse the dishes. The pile of clean and dry plates that Sora is supposed to be putting away sit dutifully neglected beside him.

“So …” Sora muses. Riku kind of feels like crying.

“What?” He bites.

Sora’s grin is like a wolf honing in on prey, and Riku defiantly feels like crying.

“About earlier?”

“What about it?”

The look Sora gives him could stand for a whole manner of things, really. “Do you …?”

“Are you planning on finishing any sentences?” Riku rinses the final dish off, placing it on the counter with more force than necessary.

Sora smiles and shakes his head, and in one fluid swing he is off the counter, wordlessly stacking the remaining dishes into the cabinet. Riku is drying his hands on a tea towel when he feels a hand stroking down between his shoulder blades, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps. Sora is lifting a finger to his lips again, taking his hand and silently leading him out of the kitchen. Their parents are happily chatting away in front of the television as they quietly sneak by, Riku’s hand held tightly in Sora’s, his heartbeat fast as a hummingbird.

When they reach the top landing Sora half turns and whispers, “Think you can be quiet, for once?” whilst pulling them in the direction of Riku’s bedroom.

His voice is low and raspy and sends various shivers through Riku’s skin. The room is kept dark in hopes of preventing some of the harsh sun and heat from entering, if Riku has any hopes of sleeping tonight. The ceiling fan spins languidly above his head, meanwhile figurative warning signals are flashing bright and urgent. Sora wastes no time what so ever to push Riku down on to the bed with an amatory smirk.

_Can you be quiet for once?_

No, probably not.

Sora straddles his hips, leaning down to kiss him and, God, this is such a bad idea.

He half loses it the moment their lips meet, anyway.

Hands are under shirts in an instant, gently caressing skin tacky with a light sheen of sweat. Sora uses his mouth, arms, hips to pin Riku to the mattress, teeth biting and ravenous. Harsh breathing encompasses the dim, quiet room; sans the gentle _swoosh_ of the fan revolving above. When Sora goes and _rolls_ on top of him, Riku almost – _almost_ – cries out, clamping his teeth down on his lower lip hard, so what makes it out in the end is a painfully strangled gasp of which Sora finds hilarious.

He chuckles and does it again, murmuring, “I knew the answer was ‘no’.”

“Shut. Up.” Riku hisses through his teeth, squeezing his eyes tight.

Sora traces a finger lightly, too lightly, over Riku’s ribs. He raises an eyebrow and halts his movements, leaving Riku groaning. His hips twitch up upon reflex, and Sora lifts up on his knees. He is a sight – pants open and teasingly full, hair a mess and eyes like blue fire, burning Riku’s heart and doing way too many things to his body.

Sora grins, a deep flush which only partially correlates to the weather travels down his neck and disappears beneath a suddenly very offensive tank. The faint bruise on his shoulder catches a stray sun beam penetrating through the venetian.

“Make me.”

A strange sort of prickling begins at the tips of Riku’s fingers and steadily travels up his arms. It flows through his chest, churning his stomach and below, mixing quite a brilliant concoction of arousal and _challenge accepted_ brought on by years of childish sword fighting and mindless races down the beach (Riku used to win those until he realized that watching Sora’s little victory dance at the end of the race track was a much nicer reward).

The surprised noise Sora makes when his back hits the mattress is victory enough in this case.

The light through the blinds casts an odd shadow across the bed, as Sora’s form is decorated with a combination of sunny and shadowy stripes, giving intrigue to beauty.

A new voice joins the back of Riku’s mind, mingles among the sirens and warning lights and shouts “fuck it”, as he bites and licks his way down Sora’s neck and chest. Pushing his shirt up his torso, Riku peppers the curve of Sora’s lower abdominal with kisses, to which he receives a low giggle in return – fantastic – and pulls his shorts and underwear down in one. He takes a little extra time to bite around Sora’s hips and thighs, listening to squeaks and moans before diving in, so the speak, and the keen that emits from Sora’s throat when the boy throws his head back against the sheets is enough of a cruel satisfaction for Riku.

He suppresses an eye roll when Sora’s fingers thread through his hair to pull it out of its pony-tail. They have had this conversation before – Sora says that he likes the way Riku’s silky hair feels against his skin. Riku says that he is weird, and it gets in the way of other more _important_ things.

Sora’s pupils are blown so wide already, hair stringy and stuck to his forehead. The sight leaves him harder than before, shifting down against the mattress to gain at least some kind of friction. Riku’s thumbs move in a circular motion against Sora’s hips, to which he gains a hum of approval. He moans whenever Riku so much as moves his head a different way, tongue quick and teasing, and Riku can’t help but think that Sora is being unusually loud.

Because unlike himself, Sora _can_ actually be quiet if he wants to. And right now it is evident that he _does not want to_.

Huffing, he pulls off. “What are you doing?”

Sora’s eyes snap open, confused, blinking at Riku as if in a haze, hand curling around the bed sheets, and Riku thinks that writhing and needy is a good look on him.

“W-what?” He pants.

Riku regards him for a moment. Idly, he reaches out and takes Sora in his hand, unmoving, just a sure grip, and Sora immediately jerks his hips up. Hm.

“Are you actually this strung out?” Riku asks, listening to Sora’s whines when he keeps the pressure light and motionless, “or are you messing with me?”

Sora groans and tries again. Riku clamps a hand on his hip to steady him. “Riku –”

His voice chokes off when Riku finally – _finally_ – moves.

“Okay.” He murmurs.

Then, warmer, “Okay.” And he stretches out more comfortably on the bed, slinging a leg over his shoulder. Riku smirks when the hand immediately returns to his hair.

Sora breathes out a shaky moan when Riku’s movements slow and his mouth softens, focusing, near torturous, around the head because he _knows_ how Sora will react to this – head tilting up and back arching off the sheets, mouth falling open perfectly, and eyes closed, dreamy. The hand at Riku’s scalp fists and tugs, while the other grips the sheets like an anchor.

He is whispering “Yes” and “ _Riku_ ” and his heel digs into the small of Riku’s back when his tongue dips and turns and _flicks_. “Fuck.”

And, “ _Fuck_ , it’s too hot – wait.”

Sora sits up to and tugs his tank top over his head, stops – eyes unfocused and hands shaky – takes a moment to deal with Riku’s shirt as well. It is slightly unbalanced when they kiss and Riku feels trembling under his fingertips. He suppresses a snort at Sora’s eager pulling at his shoulders, and they fall back on to the mattress together, now damp with sweat. Sora whines and kicks his khakis and underwear on to the floor. He goes boneless under Riku, who ignores the aching in his pants for just a moment longer. The television is blaring a sales add about extra absorbent sponges downstairs and he wonders how long they have been up here.

Ten minutes? Twenty? Half an hour?

Sora’s hand fists around the waistband of his shorts, giving one short, hard tug, and Riku falls in perfect alignment against Sora’s hips. Riku groans into his shoulder upon impact. Sora’s laugh is soft, trailing burning kisses across Riku’s cheek, temple, neck, anywhere he can, whispering his name over and over. Riku moans when Sora’s knees draw up, erection painfully compressed by his shorts.

With feet pressed firmly on the bed, arms roving along Riku’s spine, he undulates his hips and Riku sees stars. He has just enough time to bury his face in Sora’s neck to muffle a cry.

“Please.” Sora is whining. “Pleaseplease _please_."

He picks a spot just on the point where Sora’s neck meets his shoulder and latches on to it, kissing and biting the soft skin to stifle throaty groans and moans, hips moving on their own accord. Sora’s legs swing up to circle Riku’s waist, urgent hands pushing his shorts down – _yes, yes, finally_ – and the skin-on-skin contact is so beautiful, oh God.

They won’t last long now. Riku’s skin burning and sensitive, too sensitive and Sora’s hair is tickling his neck, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. He is mumbling, he releases, incoherent. Their movements are erratic – Sora’s legs twitch and clench around Riku’s waist, his own hips jolting – “ _Ah._ Yes.” – and Sora’s back is arching and he’s coming with strained cry, Riku following mere seconds later.

They collapse together, limbs like jelly entwined, panting. It takes a minute or two for Riku’s mind to defog. Listening to the ceiling fan’s gentle _swoosh swoosh swoosh_ above their heads, honing in on it, pulling focus and swimming to the surface Riku steadily re-joins reality. If it weren’t for the heat – plus the stickiness between their bodies making everything generally uncomfortable – Riku would have been inclined to lying there for hours, listening to the slowing rhythm of Sora’s heartbeat.

But Mother Nature is cruel, and despite the sexiness of the situation it is still Hellfire blazing outside, so Riku urges his tired limbs to push off of Sora, rolling onto the bed beside him.

The clock on his bedside table reads 3:52 in the afternoon, and Riku winces. Sora and his mom will need to be leaving soon, lest this lunch event turn into a dinner one. Which he wouldn’t mind, really. It wouldn’t be hard to persuade his dad to let them stay. Sora could even sleep over …

Riku groans and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes. He feels Sora turn to look at him.

“What?” His voice is deep and tired, and, Riku notes, completely wrecked. He will have to pull himself together soon or Riku will need to start working on a speech.

“Nothing.” He answers. Sora smiles at him affectionately, eyes filled with a sleepy kind of adoration that makes Riku pull him closer and kiss him, full.

It takes another five minutes for the orgasm-drowsiness to drain enough for the two of them to begin not-panicking about their current state and _very calmly_ hatching plans on how they are going to shower off the “we totally just had sex” sweat and smell without looking suspicious. In the end Sora wins a game of intense rock-paper-scissors (there is a big angry bruise on Sora’s shoulder that is going to be. Yep. It’s going to be _fun_ ) and sneaks off into the bathroom as fast as possible. Meanwhile Riku opens all the windows in his room (the blackout technique wasn’t even working anyway, God damn it) letting the ocean breeze wipe away any sinuous remains, and bundles up the bed sheets. After which he opens his bedroom door and turns the stereo on. He tries to make as much obnoxiously normal definitely-not-fucking-around-in-here noises as possible.

Three minutes later when Riku hears the toilet flush across the hall he switches to a song he knows Sora will turn his nose up at. The plan prevails when Sora shouts “Ew, dude! Really?” from the bathroom, and reenters with a gross expression. Riku rubs a towel through Sora’s still damp hair and they poke and shove at each other playfully, until Sora yanks it away and uses it to whip at Riku backside.

“Go! You stink.”

Riku snorts and dives in for one more kiss before fliting to the bathroom. Letting the water fall over him for precisely two minutes Riku climbs out, promptly dresses – hopping on one foot and all – and turns to the mirror to inspect the damage. Two barely there bruises on his neck, which could have been worse, considering. On his back are four red claw marks running down his left shoulder blade. Okay.

He speedily dries his hair, flipping it around like a dog, and reckons it is best to leave it down. Riku catches his expression in the mirror and there is the sappiest look you could imagine reflected in his eyes, Riku almost doesn’t recognize himself. Sora is downstairs when he exits – his voice carries up through the kitchen joyfully, chatting away with either or both of the parents.

He trudges down the stairs easily and finds them all in the living room, bickering about some no-mind quiz show, Sora reclined over the beige leather of the arm chair, feet kicking absently with a glass of water in his hand. The scene is so ordinary and natural Riku almost feels like the last half-hour or who-knows-how-long never happened. That is until Sora notices him enter and his face lights up with the most brilliant, toothy grin. Riku feels his cheeks flush.

His dad is placing a small glass of wine on the coffee table, eyes transfixed on the screen in front. “Riku, hey! Take a seat – someone’s about to win ten million.”

Riku slides to the floor by Sora’s feet. His voice still feels a tad groggy when he says, “Bet he screws up at the last minute.”

The room shouts their disagreement.

“Haven’t you seen these shows before? No one ever makes it that high.”

Sora’s foot swings at the back of his head. “Yeah? Ten bucks.”

“Deal.”

 

 

No one ends up staying for dinner, still full from lunch. Riku is also $10 richer. Sora steals a kiss when no one is looking, soft and fluttery. He hooks a finger into the pocket of Riku’s shorts, keeping him close. The air is much cooler now with the sun behind the horizon, and it brushes pleasantly along their skin. Light from the porch shines in Sora’s deep blue eyes, twinkling. He smiles.

“Love you.”

Sora and his mom are driving down the street by the time Riku regains control of his brain. He regains composure when his dad gives him a dubious look, clapping him on the shoulder on the way back into the house. Riku swallows the god awful elated grin and follows, knees weak.

 

 

The following day Riku does his early morning zombie-impression down to the kitchen. The house is empty and silent save for the crickets chirping out in the yard, and the faint, distant sound of waves crashing along the shore. He manages to brew some coffee by touch alone, one eyes still closed. The first sip heightens his senses immediately. Brushing silver hair out of eyes Riku moves to the fridge and –

Stops, hand frozen on its journey to the handle. Ridged, he nearly drops his coffee mug.

His dad had written a quick _**Off to work early. Remember that food and water is good for brain.**_

However, underneath the usual sarcastic dialogue is a strict _**Be safe!!!**_ outlined for emphasis. Beneath that is a packet of condoms taped to stainless steel fridge door right beside a magnet of three yellow balloons and a fairytale castle.

Horrified screaming erupts inside Riku’s head, together with hysterical laughter that sounds an awful lot like Sora.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://singt0me.tumblr.com/) here :)


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